


Small Kid, Large Pond

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Series: Batfamily Bingo [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: (except for bruce of course we love bruce wayne), Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Jason Todd is Robin, Pre-Jason Todd's Death, Prompt: Gala, So yeah, Young Tim Drake, but not the first part, even though they're not brothers yet, i mean they are in the second part, rich people suck and jason agrees, tim meets his hero at a party and gets some advice it's great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim doesn’t like parties.Okay, that’s not a completely accurate statement. He likes some parties. Birthday parties with other kids his age are usually a blast with the right amount of junk food and entertainment, but the fancy parties his parents make him attend are theworst.Too loud and full of too many people who want to pinch his cheeks and encroach on his personal space like it’s their job.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Batfamily Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792990
Comments: 9
Kudos: 443





	Small Kid, Large Pond

**Author's Note:**

> Anon said: "tim and "gala" please?"
> 
> This is for the "Gala" prompt on my bingo card so enjoy, fellas!

**Eight Years Old** **  
****  
****-**   
  
Tim doesn’t like parties.   
  
Okay, that’s not a completely accurate statement. He likes some parties. Birthday parties with other kids his age are usually a blast with the right amount of junk food and entertainment, but the fancy parties his parents make him attend are the _worst._ Too loud and full of too many people who want to pinch his cheeks and encroach on his personal space like it’s their job.   
  
Tim’s mom is talking now to some old lady with big pearls around her neck and diamond earrings the size of rocks. Despite having grown up in this sort of environment his whole life, Tim feels woefully out of place among Gotham’s elite. He knows his parents only bring him here to show him off, but he doesn’t know what for. Dad always talks about Tim inheriting Drake Industries one day even though Tim isn’t so sure he wants that.   
  
Everyone else in his class at school has dreams of being rock stars and doctors and princesses. When Tim imagines being a grownup, he sees himself becoming a photographer. A brilliant detective who people write novels about like Sherlock Holmes. Maybe both.   
  
All anyone talks to him about at these parties is how lucky Tim is to have such successful parents and how he has “a very bright future ahead of him.” More often than not they don’t even stoop the extra inch to talk to Tim directly, preferring to converse about him to his parents right in front of his face. That’s the cost of being a small kid in a large pond, he supposes.   
  
Someone clinks their glass loudly and the room quiets, all eyes turning to look at the staircase. Bruce Wayne is there, holding a glass of the weird soda that grownups drink and looking over the crowd with his trademark playboy smile.   
  
“I would like to personally thank everyone for coming here tonight,” he says. “Thanks to your generous donations, the West End Children’s Hospital has met their goal and will finally be able to open up that new surgical wing.” The crowd applauds like it’s the most inspiring speech they’ve ever heard.   
  
It’s always interesting watching Mr. Wayne, so in his element anywhere he goes unless you know what tells to look for. He’s good at what he does—at pretending to fit in with everyone here. He cares a lot about the cause, that much is clear, but Tim wonders if he would rather be out in his batsuit than stuck here entertaining people who couldn’t care less about the children’s hospital that they so _generously_ donated to.   
  
Tim wishes he knew how to do that, how to find a place for him to belong. Whenever Tim is around other people, all he can feel is small. Mr. Wayne doesn’t do that. With a mask and a cape, he makes himself big. He makes it so that it doesn’t matter how shy or overwhelmed he feels; with a simple mask, he can put all that aside and command a room like he was born to do it.   
  
But Tim doesn’t have a mask. He doesn’t have a cowl or a cape or a partner who cares about him as much as his parents pretend to. He’s just small.   
  
Mr. Wayne finishes his speech and the guests go right back to their festivities, drinking and laughing. But Tim has been here for over two hours now—being pinched, prodded, and patronized—and he feels the telltale pressure in his chest that means it’s time to get out of here, away from these people and their loud voices and their heavy wallets. He needs some peace and quiet, just enough to tide him over until he can go home and be alone once more.   
  
Tim looks around the room, craning his neck to see past the swells of bodies surrounding him until he spots an exit. His mom doesn’t notice when he lets go of her hand and slips away, dodging between people and charting a swift path to the edge of the room.   
  
Tim ventures down the dark hallway, following it until the sounds of classical music and snooty laughter begin to fade. He’s only been in Wayne Manor a handful of times before, but Tim has always been good at disappearing into dark places without getting lost. All those nights running down alleys and crouching on rooftops in the hopes of catching a glance of yellow cape and green boots have taught him well.   
  
Until he turns a corner and bumps into someone.   
  
Tim stumbles back. “Oh—uh, sorry. I didn’t—”   
  
“Don’t sweat it, kid.” The figure turns around and Tim’s mouth goes dry.   
  
It’s _him._ The Boy Wonder. Jason Todd.   
  
Tim hasn’t met this one in person yet, as he only took up the mantle a few months ago, but that doesn’t matter. Tim would still know him from a sea of strangers.   
  
Jason has one of those sodas in his hand and Tim wonders how he got it without an adult stopping him. He’s smiling, and Tim can see it so clearly. He sees the spark that Dick had before him—the spark that screams, _this boy is a hero._ It’s blinding.   
  
“What are you doing back here?” Jason asks, as if he’s not talking to his starstruck number one fan who can’t seem to remember English. “The party’s still kicking.”   
  
It takes a moment, but Tim finds his voice. “I...wanted some quiet. It’s loud in there.” He feels so tiny next to Jason, like a strong breeze could send him to the floor.   
  
Jason chuckles. “I hear that, kid. These galas are always stuffy as fuck.” His eyes widen as he remembers his audience. “Uh. Heck.”   
  
Tim frowns. “You can swear around me. My dad swears a lot when he gets mad so I’ve already heard it.” Not to mention the things he hears Robin say whilst taunting thugs or groaning his way through an injury. Dick didn’t swear at all when he was Robin.   
  
“Cool. Then I can trust you to keep quiet about this, right?” Jason pointedly swirls his glass of soda. Tim doesn’t know why kids aren’t allowed to drink it, nor why Jason is doing it since it’s clearly off limits, but he’s not about to question his hero.   
  
“I won’t tell.”   
  
“Already off to a great start, then.” He takes a sip. “You’re Tim, right? I met your mom and dad a couple times. The Drakes, right?” Tim nods. “Pretty big assholes, no offense.”   
  
“No, they’re not. They’re busy.”   
  
Jason just shrugs. “It’s okay, Bruce can be an asshole sometimes too but I still like him. All rich people are like that.”   
  
“You’re not like that.”   
  
Jason winks. “I’m not rich people. That’s how I can tell, ‘cause they think growing up on the streets and getting adopted by a billionaire means I’m not worth the muck on their shoes no matter what I do.” Tim doesn’t entirely know what that means or why someone would think that, but he supposes it's different when you don’t know that Jason saves people every night. They don’t know the hero underneath.   
  
“Am I like that?”   
  
“An asshole? Nah, you’re just a kid.” He reaches over and ruffles Tim’s hair.   
  
“No, the...other thing. The mucky shoes.” It _would_ explain a lot. Why his parents don’t take him on their long vacations and leave him at home with the nanny. Why they tell him to be quiet when he’s around their grownup friends because he talks too much about Batman and it’s annoying. If he’s muck like Jason, would that be a good thing? It would make him more like a Robin, after all.   
  
“You? No way.” Jason downs the rest of his glass. “Look, how old are you?”   
  
“Eight and a half.”   
  
“Great. Then I’m gonna give you some advice that I’ll bet no other jagoff has told you before, ‘kay?” He kneels down so he’s at Tim’s level, which is quite short. He looks him right in the eyes. “If you want something in this world, you have to get it yourself, alright? Don’t rely on anyone else. All of these rich assholes, they’d drop you in a second if it meant they got something out of the deal, and I’ve been around long enough to know that for a fact. If you want respect, you gotta give them a fucking reason to respect you. And if they don’t give it, then you say 'fuck it' and take it.”   
  
No one has ever talked to Tim like this before and it throws him for a loop. “Is...that what you did?”   
  
“Hell yeah. ‘Cause you and me, Tim, we’re scrawny. And when I was on the streets, I knew I’d get picked off by guys bigger and stronger than me unless I made it very clear that if they messed with me, they’d get their asses kicked halfway to Metropolis.”   
  
“How'd you do it?”   
  
Jason shrugs and stands up again. “By pretending to be tougher than I am. If you look at people—I mean _really_ look at them—anything anyone does is just an act. All this confidence shit, hardly anybody ever actually means it. But they pretend they do, and that’s what makes other folks believe it too."   
  
Tim nods, a little stunned in the wake of all this new information. “So...like a mask?”   
  
Jason laughs. “Sure, kid. Like a mask.” He pats Tim on the shoulder. “Now what do you say we head back to the party? I need more champagne.”   
  
It’s the last conversation Tim has with Jason Todd for a long, _long_ time.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Nineteen Years Old** **  
****  
****-** **  
****  
**“Bruce is going to flip out when he finds out you’re here,” Tim says.  
  
“What’s he gonna do, ground me?”   
  
“Why did you even come tonight? You hate fancy events.”   
  
Jason tosses a shrimp into his mouth and shrugs. “Got bored upstairs. And what was I supposed to do, pass up on Alfred’s cooking? I think the fuck not.”   
  
“Someone’s going to see you.”   
  
“Let ‘em. It’s not like anyone’s itching to spread rumors that Jason Todd got spontaneously resurrected and is now attending Wayne galas in plain sight to nosh on finger foods.” He grabs a handful of salmon-wrapped cream cheese bites.   
  
“You’re not exactly trying to blend in.” Tim gestures to Jason’s frumpy leather jacket, steel-toed boots, and ripped jeans that are stained with what he’s pretty sure is blood splatter on the knees. Tim himself is wearing a pressed suit and at least tried to get his hair gelled into some semblance of order, though strands broke loose and now hang in his face.   
  
“Stop bitching. Not my fault you’re anxious as a fucking speedster right now. Take it out on someone else.” A wealthy-looking man comes up to the food table and Jason gives him his best cream cheese-coated smile. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye,” he says in the worst Irish accent known to man.   
  
After the man leaves, Tim hits Jason on the arm. “What the hell was that?”   
  
“I’m blending in like you told me to.”   
  
“Oh, yeah, terribly impersonating an Irish person is _sure_ to keep you from standing out.” Jason just rolls his eyes and downs a champagne flute. “And for the record,” Tim adds, “I have a right to be anxious about this. This is one of the biggest events of the year and I’m making my announcement in less than five minutes.” He feels sweat beading on his forehead just thinking about it.   
  
Jason shrugs. “So? You’ll just do what you always do and wow the crowd with some big words and business crap.”   
  
Tim fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. “I wish Bruce were here.”   
  
“Blame him for picking tonight to piss off Penguin. I’m a million percent sure they’re battling it out on a rooftop right about now. The lucky asshole.”   
  
“Does my hair look okay?” Tim asks, checking his reflection in a soup spoon. “Vicki’s going to drag me through the mud if something’s out of place, and then _nobody_ will listen to me.”   
  
“Dude. What do I always tell you?” Jason spreads his hands, the physical embodiment of chill. “Just relax and give them a reason to respect you. You’ll do fine.”   
  
“Says the guy who _isn’t_ speaking in front of two hundred people.”   
  
“Exactly. Outsider’s perspective right here.” His eyes drag up to a point over Tim’s shoulder. Tim follows his gaze to find Tam standing by the stage at the front of the ballroom, waving Tim over. “Break a spine, man," Jason tells him.   
  
“It’s a leg, actually.”   
  
“I said what I said. Now go talk business. I'm gonna go test out the dessert table.”   
  
Tim straightens his tie and takes a deep breath. He makes the walk to the stage and takes his place at the podium, waiting for the crowd to hush. Cameras flash from every direction, but he does his best to ignore it. He clears his throat.   
  
“Thank you all for coming,” he says into the microphone. “I would like to take the opportunity to discuss with you today Wayne Enterprises’ latest business venture: absorbing Drake Industries.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, Jason’s been screwed over too many times during his time on the streets to trust anyone with more than a hundred bucks to their name, and this takes place at the point in his time with Bruce when he still doesn’t trust him so yeah.
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
